


How I Will Kill You, Let Me Count the Ways

by spastasmagoria (Spastasmagoria)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spastasmagoria/pseuds/spastasmagoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson explains exactly how he plans on dispatching his annoying roommate. In excruciating detail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How I Will Kill You, Let Me Count the Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimers apply. I own nothing except these fairy wings.

‘Please tell me you have a case for him. –JW’

Greg Lestrade looked down at his phone, shaking his head at the contents of the text message that had just buzzed his pocket. It was the second such plea from John in two days. Sherlock must have been driving him insane.

This was, of course, confirmed an hour later by the next text.

‘Cold cases. Jack the Ripper murders. Make something up. Anything.--JW’

Greg had to chuckle at that one. It must have been getting desperate over on Baker Street. He was glad someone else was now having just as much fun as HE used to when Sherlock was going on a boredom tear.

‘No, but I can kill someone for him, if you’d like,’ he texted back.

‘It would be much appreciated. –JW’ came the reply not a minute later.

Lestrade laughed out loud then, digging into the desk drawer for a pile of docents he’d been collecting for just such an occasion. They were unsolved, but if he gave them to Sherlock at another time, they’d be thrust back in his face, with a declaration that they were child’s play and not worthy of his time. But when Sherlock was in a mood… well, the consultant could get through half the stack in a less than a few hours before becoming fed up.

Keeping the rate of solved cases in his department high was simply a matter of learning how to manage certain non-members of his team. It had taken him five years to figure that out, but he worked with what he had.

Explaining he was leaving for an early lunch, Lestrade headed toward Westminster. God, had life been pleasant since John Watson had come around to take over the position of genius wrangler and psychopath-nanny. He got to enjoy days like this, instead of dreading when they’d come, and he’d have to practically cobber Sherlock over the head to keep him from using. Obviously god was rewarding him for four years of the special type of hell only Sherlock culd put someone through.

XYZ

The landlady let him in when he got there, and held a finger to her lips. “you might not want to go up there right now,” she whispered, though it was hard to hear her over the din of screaming happening above his head. “Having a bit of a domestic.”

The older woman took it in stride, which was a bit surprising. “They do this often?”

Up above Watson’s muffled rant came to an end and something heavy and glass broke.“At least once a week,” the old woman explained. “There isn’t anything to be done for it, I suppose. But this is the longest they’ve gone on in ages.”

Oh great, there was a routine for this sort of thing. “What’re they going on about?” Lestrade was catching bits and pieces, Sherlock was yelling something about toast, and severed fingers, and John was screaming about milk and personal space issues. He was sure it all made perfect sense, if you were privy to the whole conversation. Maybe. Probably not, if he knew those two.

“One of ‘em will storm out and the other will sulk. Then I make some tea and we talk about it until the other gets back.”

Lestrade held up the stack of case files under his arm. “Maybe this’ll help.”

Mrs. Hudson’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you brought him some nice murders? Sherlock will like that.”

They were all mad here, on Baker Street. It was probably lead paint or pipes or something. That was the only reasonable explanation that he could find. “Yeah, might shut at least one of them up for a few minutes.” Either one would be fine.

As he climbed the steps, the voices grew clearer until he could hear more specifics of what they were arguing about. Out of some sick sense of curiosity, he stopped with his hand just above the doorknob, listening to the chaos erupting on the other side.

“You don’t even LIKE her!”

“Of course I don’t! She’s my SISTER!”

“I did you a favor!”

“Don’t do me any more favors! Please! I don’t need any more ice picks rammed into my back! I swear to God I WILL KILL YOU if you try to help me ever again!”

“Don’t be so melodramatic ! You wouldn’t murder me just for failing to let your bore of a sister into our flat.”

“That would just be the final straw, Sherlock! And I’d do it, an I wouldn’t even be sorry!”

“I don’t believe you!”

Oh great. Sherlock was goading him. This would end well.

“Why? Because I am such a peaceful man? Because I have never EVER killed anyone before?”

“They’d trace the gun back to you in a minute.”

“I don’t need a gun to kill people. And you would never, EVER see it coming.”

“HAH! You really are an idiot--”

“You never ever do the shopping. Or the cooking. I could have been putting low levels of arsenic in your food for AGES and you would never know. I have easy access, you know All I have to say to Molly is that you wanted me to grab some for one of your experiments.”

“Like I don’t know the symptoms of heavy metal poisoning!”

“You don’t sleep, you don’t eat regularly… feeling a little run-down, Sherlock? Slow, methodical poisoning would look like exhaustion for AGES until the joint pain started! I could be putting it in your tea and you would have no idea until your hair started falling out. But I wouldn’t do that. I DON’T LIKE YOU THAT MUCH. I’d just poison you outright. No one would blink if you overdosed. Not even Lestrade. You’d just be another sad genius who couldn’t handle the pressure of the real world. And oh, wasn’t it just SO FUCKING TRAGIC that I didn’t make it home from the clinic in time to save you! I’d try, of course. I'd perform CPR until they ripped me off your body.”

“Your alibi would never hold.”

“Or I could just kill you and get rid of the body. I’m FRIGHTFULLY good at dismemberment. And we happen to have all the tools I need, conveniently, right here in our flat! I’m sure Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t notice a few more body parts in the fridge, or an extra organ or two in the trash. I’d say you were off on a case, and it would be DAYS, maybe WEEKS before your inflated head would pop up down river somewhere, at which point I would be LONG FUCKING GONE. And it would be the perfect fucking murder. Do you know why? BECAUSE YOU WOULDN’T BE AROUND TO SOLVE IT. HAH.”

And it was quiet. Deadly, deathly quiet. John Watson had stunned Sherlock Holmes into silence.

Definitely something in the water over this way. Turned them all into psychos. But just to be safe, Lestrade vowed never to piss off the good doctor.

The silence droned on for an uncomfortable length of time, until Lestrade finally worked up the nerve to open the door to the flat. He grinned at the silent men inside, holding up the stack of folders. “Was wondering if you would mind looking at a few things…?”

It was still several more moments before the stunned look left Sherlock’s face, falling into that haughty, unaffected look that Greg was so used to. “Ahh, Lestrade. Yes. Thank you.” But Sherlock still seemed a little rattled.

And John… the other man was wearing this hideously satisfied scowl on his face. God… and Sherlock was the one they’d been worried about all this time, one day leaving bits and pieces of people as ‘presents’ for the police around London.

“Everything alright, here?” Lestrade asked cautiously.

Sherlock sniffed. “Yes. But if I should…disappear. I’d check our refrigerator for my body parts.”

John scowled, his eyes narrowing even more. “Yes, you’ll find his head on the top shelf, next to the butter, and his FINGERS IN THE MILK JUG. Because I LOVE pouring body parts onto my cereal!”

Lestrade had a sneaking suspicion he knew how this row had started. “Do we need to have another talk about legal restrictions on bio-hazards in residential neighborhoods?”

“It was an experiment!”

“John, next time he does stupid shit like that, just let health and safety know. I’m sure the fine would be crushing at this point, with two prior offenses. There’s no need to go killing him over it. But if you feel inclined, just let me know. I can provide an alibi for the drug overdose thing. It’s less paperwork than a disappearance, and doesn’t tie up assets for years in court.” He dumped the folders on the nearest chair. “Have fun, you two love-birds.”

Grinning, he departed and left them to their mutual misery.

Yes, yes. This was MUCH better than having to wrangle Sherlock on his own. It was also FAR more hilarious.

THE END


End file.
